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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24088675">The Thing With Feathers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/graveyard_of_buried_hopes/pseuds/graveyard_of_buried_hopes'>graveyard_of_buried_hopes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Thing With Feathers [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Rivals to Lovers, and everyone else is just here for the ride, and yes i'm letting harry james potter be a professor, because i love them, draco is doing his best, hermione isn't so sure about that, subject to more ships in the future idk i don't have a plan here, yes this is a professor au</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:15:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,608</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24088675</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/graveyard_of_buried_hopes/pseuds/graveyard_of_buried_hopes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hermione Granger is chosen to succeed Minerva McGonagall as Professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts, she is delighted. That is, until she meets her newest coworker. Former Death Eater Draco Malfoy is just trying to turn his life around doing what he loves, but that becomes distinctly more difficult when he encounters his past at every turn. When you combine Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, a whole lot of teenagers and a little bit of magic, what do you get? Well, this.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Daphne Greengrass/Theodore Nott, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Blaise Zabini</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Thing With Feathers [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1737880</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. He Stuns You By Degrees</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello everybody! Thanks for giving this story a chance. This story is also on my Tumblr with all of my other fanfic (@danyka-fendyr), but it will be getting early releases on here. However, if you have any interest in anything else I might be writing you can go check me out over there. I can't promise regular updates for this story, but I would like to make semi-frequent updates. If I don't update biweekly just call me out and I'll probably have a new chapter served soon. Anyway, I'll shut up now since I'm lucky if I can even get you to read this and I shouldn't distract from the story.</p><p>(One last thing. The story title and the chapter title are both Emily Dickinson quotes, and this will continue as a theme throughout this series. Gold star to anyone who can guess what the next chapter will be called.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were two days in Hermione Granger’s mind that stood out as the happiest days of her life. The day that she realized Harry and Ron were in fact her friends, and the day the wizarding war ended. Today, she was fairly certain she was about to add a new day to that list. The day she became a professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.</p><p><br/>She pulled her planner out of the small beaded bag she still carried everywhere with her, a remnant of a war she had yet to truly stop fighting. She didn’t bother shuffling through it, simply summoning the planner she needed. Her compartment on the train was empty, so she reasoned that now was as good a time as any to go through her schedule for the day.</p><p><br/>She was meant to visit Hagrid for tea before the banquet in the Great Hall, truly fortunate timing given that she doubted anything had changed about his cooking since her last visit, and therefore she would not be eating much. Next on her schedule was to drink 4.7 liters of pumpkin juice until she bled the stuff. She had fond memories of the sugary drink from her childhood and fully intended upon indulging herself tonight. In fact, where was the trolley witch?</p><p><br/>Speak of the devil. A rustle at her compartment door caused Hermione to look up, an expectant smile on her face. It quickly fell away when she was greeted by someone who was most definitely <em>not</em> the trolley witch.</p><p><br/>Dark, expensive looking wizard’s robes. Sharp, unnervingly keen blue eyes. And to top it all off? That shock of white blond hair, longer now then it was in their school days, falling into his eyes a little. McGonagall had warned her of her fellow new professor, but she had not been prepared for the reality of the thing.</p><p><br/>It wasn’t the first time she had seen Draco since the war. She had seen him at his trial, and then she had seen him frequently at work. She had taken up a job at Flourish and Blotts for a while after it reopened, but while Malfoy had frequented the store, he had never approached her. He hovered creepily in the potions section before spending his limitless fortune on yet another book on the same subject.</p><p><br/>Still, sometimes she caught him watching her with a haunted look in those eerie grey eyes, and as the months had drained on and summer had faded into fall, she had not only grown accustomed to his presence but had also found the flashbacks came less and less the more she saw of him. She gripped the ledge of the window now, imagining to herself a dull throb where the words had been carved. She believed phantom pain to be the technical term.</p><p><br/>She expected him to say something. Something rude, specifically. Instead, he refused to meet her eyes. He merely mumbled something about how all of the other compartments were full and proceeded to take a seat as far away from her as he possibly could.</p><p><br/>Now, Hermione knew they had a history. Knew that better than anyone, had it carved into her arm, a perfect parallel to the brand on his. That being said, she couldn’t help being a little insulted. Shouldn’t she be the one cringing away from him? Where was all that infamous Malfoy swagger now?</p><p><br/>For months, he had all but stalked her in the shops. She had at one point had cause to ask her manager to let her work in any section but the potions section. For the first several months of her job, she had found herself frantically retreating to the back room just so she didn’t have to make eye contact with a former Death Eater she had only barely found the nerve to testify for and save from his own teenage stupidity and horrific family legacy, and now he didn’t even have the nerve to speak to her?</p><p><br/>“You know I don’t bite. I hex, but I don’t bite.”</p><p><br/>The tone in which she said it implied that she might make an exception on her no biting policy just for him.</p><p><br/>He looked startled that she had even deigned to talk to him at all, as well he should. He certainly had no right to it. It gave her an odd thrill to startle Draco Malfoy. He looked like a frightened puppy, those blue eyes flung wide for just a moment. And he defied her expectations again. Instead of the cool swagger she had expected, he looked…reserved?</p><p><br/>“Apologies, Granger. I just thought…you might want your distance.” He cleared his throat awkwardly.</p><p><br/>“Am I supposed to genuinely believe that you were just trying to do something nice for me?”</p><p><br/>His eyes flitted to her left arm. Just for a moment, but it was long enough.</p><p><br/>“I suppose you have reason enough not to. I assure you though, I have no desire to fight with you. I think we’re a bit past that, don’t you?” He managed a strained smile that rang false in Hermione’s eyes.</p><p><br/>His calm infuriated her. She should be the self-righteous one here. She should be the one spouting out placations about their schoolyears and how they had grown and matured. Of all the people to try and teach her some kind of lesson, he was perhaps the one with the least right to.</p><p><br/>“A bit past what, Malfoy? This?” She pulled back the sleeve on the arm he had been staring at earlier, watching him flinch back. “Just because you and Narcissa didn’t go to prison doesn’t mean we’re friends. It also doesn’t mean you can’t still go there. How do you think Mummy dearest will look after a few months in Azkaban?”</p><p><br/>It was a low blow. She knew that. Even in her anger she hadn’t meant to fight that dirty, even in her memories of thrashing on a cold tile floor and blood, blood everywhere, so much of it, scars that would never heal, she had thought herself better than this. Somehow, the thrill of pleasure she got when he rose to her challenge made it all worth it.</p><p><br/>“Alright then Granger, you want to be 16 again then fine. I suppose not much has changed, has it? You’re still pining after the Weasel, aren’t you? Tried to murder anyone with a flock of birds lately?”</p><p><br/>Hermione stiffened. She hadn’t anticipated that he would be as familiar with her weaknesses as she was with his. She didn’t look at him when she admitted the unpleasant but unavoidable truth.</p><p><br/>“Ron and I…are broken up.”</p><p><br/>It had happened shortly after her 19th birthday. They had continued making public appearances together for the last year, but they had been gradually easing off, trying to avoid the media frenzy that would be just openly coming out with their split. Rita Skeeter would certainly have a field day with that one. She might as well tell Malfoy now though. They had been planning to announce it soon, using her new, distant position as an excuse.</p><p><br/>That taunting yet comfortingly familiar smirk spread over his face as he leaned back in his seat, kicking his feet up on her side of the compartment. “Finally got tired of him, did you? Realized you were too good for him after all?”</p><p><br/>Unwittingly, in trying to rile her up by insulting Ron, he had hit on her other sore spot. The fact that she had not actually broken up with him.</p><p><br/>She grit her teeth. “Other way around actually. He broke up with me. Are we done discussing my love life now?”</p><p><br/>Malfoy nearly fell out of his seat from his precariously perched situation, the shock evident on his face.</p><p><br/>“Wait, he broke up with you? Has he finally lost his damn mind?” Surprisingly, Malfoy burst into laughter. “I mean, I always knew he was a bloody fool, but now he’s just reached new heights.”</p><p><br/>Blessedly, the trolley witch really was the interruption at the door this time, and if she was surprised to see Hermione Granger speechlessly staring at an abundantly amused Draco Malfoy, she did not comment on it.</p><p><br/>“Treats, dears?”</p><p><br/>Hermione perked up at this, all anger forgotten at the promise of a chocolate frog. As a child she had never had much money for the candy that Harry and Ron so wildly indulged in, and entirely too much self-discipline to do so anyway. Now though, her 20-year-old self had considerably more funds and less will-power, and she wanted candy. Lots of it. She probably looked downright gleeful, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.</p><p><br/>Then Draco Malfoy did something entirely unprecedented. Something heartstoppingly, shockingly, terribly unprecedented.</p><p><br/>Maybe it was the look on her face. Maybe it was an overwhelming sense of guilt. Maybe it was some deep, innate, Malfoyish need in him to be a show-off at all times.<br/>Whatever the reason, it was Hermione’s turn yet again to be unpleasantly surprised when he said, “We’ll take the lot.”</p><p><br/>“What about the kids?” She stumbled out a protest.</p><p><br/>“We’re the last compartment in the train Granger. Surely you’d noticed.” He raised an eyebrow.</p><p><br/>She had, in fact. She had chosen this compartment intentionally to avoid everyone, former classmates included. Most students who had chosen to go back for an eighth year had done so the year directly after the battle. However, others were not so lucky. Many of the Slytherin students had been wrapped up in messy trials, and consequently found themselves having to take something of a gap year. A few of the students who had lost family members in the war had also taken time off to grieve, and Hermione dreaded seeing their hollowed-out eyes and potential accusatory glares. Unable to face all of it, she had chosen to avoid it for as long as possible, selecting this compartment for that purpose. Something Malfoy had managed to make her forget with his outlandish declaration.</p><p><br/>“I…yes, of course. But…we’ll?” There was a healthy dose of skepticism launched into the word.</p><p><br/>“Unless you didn’t want anything?”</p><p><br/>Was he…teasing her? Not maliciously, not to be nasty. No, actual, good-natured teasing.</p><p><br/>Unfortunately, she never got to find out, as the trolley witch named her price and left them with their candies.</p><p><br/>“I figured if I can’t win your allegiance with my good looks and charming personality, maybe I can buy it,” he joked, offering up one of the very chocolate frogs she had been dreaming of.</p><p><br/>Wearily, she took it. “This doesn’t change anything.”</p><p><br/>“Of course not.” He nodded amiably, and again Hermione got the sense of being handled with kid gloves.</p><p><br/>She scowled. “I’ll accept this chocolate frog on one condition.”</p><p><br/>He had the nerve to look amused. “Which is?”</p><p><br/>“You have to eat an acid pop.”</p><p><br/>The smirk fell off his face.</p><p><br/>“Come on Granger, can’t you just eat the candy and be happy?”</p><p><br/>“Nope. I will only accept this strange truce on the condition that you eat an acid pop. It’s a simple request Malfoy.”</p><p><br/>“You want me to burn a hole through my tongue to get you to be civil.” Waves of disbelief came off of him.</p><p><br/>“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you not know the charm to heal an acid burn?”</p><p><br/>The mocking lilt to her voice worked exactly as intended.</p><p><br/>“Of course I do,” he said, already reaching for an acid pop.</p><p><br/>The look on his face the moment he stuck it in his mouth was worth 5 years’ worth of truce. She had never seen someone be so dramatic before, and she had been friends with Harry Potter. She couldn’t and wouldn’t stop the laugh that burst out of her upon seeing his exaggerated agony.</p><p><br/>He pulled it out almost immediately, working the healing charm on his tongue.</p><p><br/>“Merlin, Granger, you’re a sadist.”</p><p><br/>There was no malice behind the accusation.</p><p><br/>“It’s true. I hide behind this bookworm façade, but get me alone and I’m a whole different person. Sticks and stones may break my bones but whips and chains excite me.”</p><p><br/>Malfoy choked on the pumpkin pasty he was trying to enjoy. “What?”</p><p><br/>Hermione was laughing again, entirely against her will.</p><p><br/>“It’s a, a Muggle song,” she managed to gasp out.</p><p><br/>“That’s what Muggles call music?” He stared at her, baffled.</p><p><br/>“Oh, I can already tell this year is going to be great.”</p><p><br/>“I hope so.” He sobered. “Did you…want to talk about it?”</p><p><br/>Green wallpaper. Bellatrix’s face, manic and cackling. Screaming stretching into eternity, echoing through the halls, bouncing off the chandelier.</p><p><br/>She opened her mouth to say no, opened her mouth to say something terrible again, but she saw his face first. He was unusually pale, even for such a pale boy as him, and he had that look in his eyes. The look from Flourish and Blotts. It wasn’t just apologetic. It was horrified.</p><p><br/>Marble floors. Unforgiveable spells. And a boy with a face whiter than paper, mouth open to do everything short of beg his aunt to stop.</p><p><br/>“I hope we can be civil this year, Professor Malfoy. I doubt we will ever be friends, but I’m sure we can manage civility.”</p><p><br/>Despite her best intentions to maintain a brave face, she curled in on herself, resting her head against the compartment wall. She was set to stare out the window for the rest of the ride, and Malfoy seemed more than content to allow it, not pushing the issue any longer. He seemed to lose interest in the candy quickly, letting her know she could have as much of it as she wanted before falling back in his seat.</p><p><br/>She didn’t think he meant to fall asleep. He couldn’t have if he knew what was going to happen. Regardless, he did fall asleep, and the screaming started soon after.<br/>The first thing Hermione did was cast a silencing charm around their compartment. The last thing either of them needed was the entire train rushing down here. Then she crossed the carriage to sit across from him, intending to wake him. But he was…saying something. Perhaps it was torture to leave him like this, but hadn’t she been tortured? And she wanted answers now.</p><p><br/>“Don’t hurt her! Please, please leave her alone. Aunt Bella, please..”</p><p><br/>Hermione froze. She needed to wake him up. Right now.</p><p><br/>She did it the fastest way she knew how, casting aguamenti, spraying water in his face and causing him to splutter awake. She performed a drying charm as well, barely thinking before waving her wand.</p><p><br/>He panted, blond hair hanging down into his face, elbows resting on his knees. He looked like he might be sick, back and chest heaving with every breath.</p><p><br/>“You were having a nightmare,” she said, like he might have been oblivious to it.</p><p><br/>“Yes, thank you for that information Granger. Somehow it managed to escape me.”</p><p><br/>She almost felt relieved to hear the bite in his voice. It was like getting the old Malfoy back, not one that walked on eggshells and had to be goaded into...well, goading her. It was truly a strange world they were living in.</p><p><br/>“Oh, ever so sorry for not leaving you to your night terrors. I thought about it, but the screams were just a tad grating.” She glared at him.</p><p><br/>He returned with just as much fire. “I think you’re getting my little nap and your dreams mixed up, Granger. Just because you scream my name in your sleep doesn’t mean we’re all so loud on our own time.”</p><p><br/>“Funny coming from a man who takes every chance he gets to use my name.” She smirked triumphantly.</p><p><br/>He lowered his voice, leaning forward and causing her to remember her venture over to his side of their compartment. “Does that bother you, Granger?”</p><p><br/>His breath fanned across her face, warm and improbably smelling of mint, which it certainly shouldn’t have after all that candy. She almost asked him if he used a charm for that before remembering herself and recoiling.</p><p><br/>“The only thing that bothers me is covering for you,” she snapped, crossing back to her side of the compartment before undoing her silencing charm. “Next time take some dreamless sleep, or aren’t you the potions master?”</p><p><br/>He stared daggers at her but didn’t respond, settling back into his seat. He still looked shaken, but Hermione was determined to ignore him for the rest of the journey. It wouldn’t be much longer now anyway.</p><p><br/>The rest of their trip did prove to be fairly uneventful, much to her relief. Their carriage remained blissfully scream free and before she knew it they were both at Hogwarts. Hermione breathed in the Scottish air on the platform, glad to be home.</p><p><br/>When preparing for the trip to Hogwarts, she recognized that she could have apparated into Hogsmeade, but she quickly realized it was easier to arrive with a sea of students. Hermione Granger alone might have attracted attention, but Professor Granger and her students had earned a certain amount of respect. Funny how helping save the world got you mixed reviews but professorship earned you rights. She suspected Malfoy had similar reasons for traveling so. Not that she cared.</p><p><br/>Hagrid gave her a jolly wave as he rounded up the first years, and she waved back before hurrying over to the thestral-drawn carriages in the hopes of finding a good one. A breeze whipped through her bushy mess of curls, pulling them into all sorts of new shapes as she tried to hold them back with her hands.</p><p><br/>Upon arriving at the carriages, Hermione was filled with a sense of dread. Harry and Ron would not be able to ride with her this year. She gnawed at her lip, unsure of what she wanted to do until she was presented with a rather clear sign. A sign that was heading right towards her, red hair bobbing up and down through the crowd.</p><p><br/>“Hermione!”</p><p><br/>Arms flung themselves around her waist, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She returned the hug, more than happy to have a friend here. Ron may have given her up, but that didn’t mean his family had.</p><p><br/>“Ginny. Did you want to get a carriage together?” Hermione asked, pulling back after a moment.</p><p><br/>“Yes. You can tell me about the last year, I’ve barely seen you since you announced you were taking the gap year.” Ginny linked arms with her, dragging her towards one of the smaller carriages, just the right size for the two of them. “Done much reading?”</p><p><br/>“I am happy to say yes,” Hermione said, laughing.</p><p><br/>While everyone else who had taken the year off was now returning for their belated eighth year, Hermione’s situation was...unique. She had thought about returning for her eighth year the year after the war, but quickly realized she couldn’t do it. The memories of the girl who walked those halls as a student and who she was now were so incongruous she couldn’t bear it. Instead she had taken her NEWT’s mere weeks after the war, against the advisement of everyone in her life, including Headmistress McGonagall, but who was going to stop her? When Hermione Granger marches through the doors of the ministry demanding a NEWT’s examination weeks after saving the world, you don’t deny her.</p><p><br/>“Should you be heading up with the students?” Ginny asked as Hermione stepped into the carriage. “What with your professorship now and everything.”</p><p><br/>Hermione smiled. “I shouldn’t, but I’m doing it anyway. I was hoping to see you and maybe some of the others.”</p><p><br/>“I still can’t believe the ministry made us repeat a year. I mean, I can because the Carrows weren’t winning any professor of the year awards, but still. How does the Battle of Hogwarts count as experience for all the seventh years but not anybody else?” Ginny slammed the carriage door behind her as she finished getting in behind Hermione.</p><p><br/>“Oh please.” Hermione rolled her eyes, seeing right through her. “You’re delighted to be here. You’re more than eager to see your favourite professor.”</p><p><br/>Ginny blushed, freckles disappearing in the red blooming over her cheeks.</p><p><br/>“I’m more eager for the feast tonight,” she retorted.</p><p><br/>“Oh definitely. I’m dying for some pumpkin juice.”</p><p><br/>“Of all the things I didn’t anticipate you missing, pumpkin juice was probably at the top of that list. Who knew it could be so addictive?” Ginny threw herself back in her seat, red hair billowing across the dark upholstery. “Do you think we can convince the Thestrals to go any faster?”</p><p><br/>“Worth a shot,” Hermione joked.</p><p><br/>She felt a sudden surge of fondness for Ginny. They had both changed so much in the last year. Hermione had found a new lack of enthusiasm for the rules, and if she was honest, a lack of enthusiasm. It often felt as though the colour had leeched out of her life after the war, and most days she simply didn’t have the energy to care about anything that wasn’t essential, which included other people’s opinions. Disillusionment with authority had partially carried her through the last year.<br/>Ginny, on the other hand, had learned that freedom and independence weren’t the same thing. Hermione had watched her learn to rely more on the others in her life as she dealt with her own grief, the loss of Fred sharp and heavy in her heart. The one thing that hadn’t changed was their friendship, despite Hermione’s breakup with her brother. Some time after that awful seventh year, Ginny had become Hermione’s best friend, and she was rarely unconscious of the gift that was. While she would have spared Ginny her pain if she could have, it was an undeniable relief to have someone uniquely able to understand. Their losses were not the same, but pain is rarely particular in its forms of relief.</p><p><br/>They chatted more on the way to the castle, and Hermione realized that this was probably the most she’d been able to talk to Ginny since the breakup. Ginny had gone directly back to school after the war, citing her need to stay busy as a reason, as well as the fact that she was already a year behind thanks to Minister of Magic Shacklebolt’s decision that 5th years and above were to repeat the year they had studied under Death Eater watch. Hermione hadn’t seen her over the holidays either, as it had simply been too awkward for her to show up at the Burrow, especially with Harry gone all the time. She had taken up residence in a little flat in Diagon Alley and abandoned nearly everything except for her work. Ginny had stopped by sometimes when she went to visit George at the shop, but it just wasn’t the same.</p><p><br/>“So Minnie gave you her old job?”</p><p><br/>“Ginny! Don’t let her hear you calling her Minnie, she might just give you detention for a week.” Despite her scolding, Hermione couldn’t hold back her smile.</p><p><br/>It had been quite an honor to have McGonagall herself ask her to work as the new Transfiguration professor. She had been trying to find an adequate replacement for quite some time now, Hermione knew, preparing to transition her focus solely to being Headmistress of the school. Of course, knowing who some of her fellow professors were put a damper on her pride.</p><p><br/>“Did you hear Malfoy is the new Potions professor?” Ginny wrinkled her nose. “Can’t believe they’re even allowing him near children.”</p><p><br/>Hermione shook her head. “Neither can I. To be honest I thought McGonagall would be more strict than this.”</p><p><br/>“Yeah. This feels more like a Dumbledore move,” she agreed.</p><p><br/>“You never could tell what he was going to do next.”</p><p><br/>“One day he was asking for socks for Christmas and the next he was sending my boyfriend out as a human sacrifice. What a wildcard.”</p><p><br/>Ginny sounded almost admiring, and Hermione had to laugh. She remembered that Ginny had grown up with a whole household of wildcards, notwithstanding Percy. She had had a healthy appreciation for the unconventional instilled in her at a young age.</p><p><br/>“Look!” Ginny said, excitedly pressing her face to the glass. “The castle!”</p><p><br/>Hermione found herself just as eager, and she joined Ginny at the window, both of them acting like a pair of first years witnessing the architectural behemoth for the first time. It was just as Hermione had remembered it. She felt a sudden stab of longing and she found herself tearing up a little, almost feeling as though she was coming home.<br/>At last they arrived, but Hermione was reluctant to part ways.</p><p><br/>“I’m popping down to Hagrid’s for a few minutes for tea. Did you want to come with me?” She offered.</p><p><br/>Ginny glanced between Hermione and the castle. “I would, but…”</p><p><br/>“You have someone you need to see.”</p><p><br/>Ginny smiled slyly. “Yes, I do. See you at the feast?”</p><p><br/>“See you at the feast,” Hermione agreed. “I should be back in time to see the Sorting.”</p><p><br/>“Topping.”</p><p><br/>Hermione watched for a moment as Ginny headed through the doors of the castle, losing her in a sea of black, before heading down to Hagrid’s hut. She picked her way through the grounds, breathing in the late summer air. It was quite a warm night, and the walk to Hagrid’s was pleasant, though not long.</p><p><br/>The moment her fist met the door, she heard Fang’s barking, and she couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face. That smile only grew wider when Hagrid threw the door open, drawing her into a hug.</p><p><br/>“‘Mione!” She could hear the tears in his eyes before she could see them. “Oh it’s so good to ‘ave you ‘ome.”</p><p><br/>“Hagrid,” she wheezed, “I can’t breathe.”</p><p><br/>“Oh, sorry ‘bout tha’,” he said, letting her go.</p><p><br/>As she suspected, his black eyes shown with tears and his hair, even wilder than hers, was beginning to grow wet with it. Oh dear. Somewhere between greeting her and letting go of her he had started crying in earnest.</p><p><br/>“Hagrid, what’s wrong?” she asked, concerned.</p><p><br/>“I just, I missed you lot so much, and it’s so good to have you back. You know, ‘Arry comes by sometimes, but it’s just not the same, is it?”</p><p><br/>Hermione felt that familiar ache in her chest. No, no it was not the same.</p><p><br/>“Oh Hagrid, it’s alright. Perhaps we should head up to the feast now, if you’d like, make sure we’re in time for the Sorting.”</p><p><br/>“Good idea ‘Ermione, very good idea.”</p><p><br/>Hagrid nodded, pulling out of the doorway and allowing Fang through to bestow a healthy amount of slobber onto Hermione’s...everything. She didn’t mind though. She had missed him too, and a few quick charms fixed the state of her robes.</p><p><br/>“Shall we then?” Hagrid asked after blowing his nose into a large polka dotted handkerchief.</p><p><br/>“Yes, we shall.”</p><p><br/>They made the trip back across the grounds, Hagrid managing to pull himself together before they had to enter the Great Hall. Hermione felt a sudden lurch of nerves in the pit of her stomach. She had been here a thousand times before, sure, but never as a professor. Walking up to the head table, she found herself searching for the one pair of eyes she knew could reassure her in this moment. She found another set entirely, however.</p><p><br/>Ice blue eyes met hers in a cold stare, but as soon as he realized it was her he was looking at he seemed to effortfully turn it to something more neutral. As though aloof was the best he could manage in the presence of a Mudblood. Not that she cared.</p><p><br/>She used the energy she might have spent being indignant with Malfoy to carry her up to the head table, taking her seat next to Hagrid and a chair that was, as of yet, unoccupied. It didn’t remain that way for long. Moments before the Sorting Ceremony was due to start, the body belonging to the pair of eyes she had been searching for earlier deposited itself into the chair next to her.</p><p><br/>“Hello Hermione.”</p><p><br/>Harry Potter grinned at her, his eyes a reassuring, familiar green, so far from the pale blue she had settled for earlier.</p><p><br/>“Professor Potter.” She gave him a cheeky wink. “I see the rumors are true. You have successfully broken a curse that’s been around longer than you’ve been alive.”</p><p><br/>“We’ll add cursebreaker to my list of titles.” He chuckled. “I’ll start signing all my letters, ‘Harry Potter, Hogwart’s Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, The Boy Who Lived, Breaker of Curses.’ That won’t make me sound arrogant at all, will it?”</p><p><br/>“I think it rather works for you. They should give you the Order of Merlin, First Class, throw another one in there.”</p><p><br/>“I’ve missed you.” He smiled at her, and in that moment Hermione felt more at home than she had in months.</p><p><br/>“Well,” she said primly, wiping at her eyes. “You wouldn’t have to if you’d come around more often. Gin’s been dying to see you, you prat.”</p><p><br/>“Always scolding.”</p><p><br/>She could hear the warmth in his voice though, and knew that he felt, if not the same, then similar to her.</p><p><br/>“Sssshhh, they’re bringing in the first years.”</p><p><br/>And indeed they were, tinier than Hermione ever could have remembered them being. Of course, she had seen a fair few of them in her last weeks at Flourish and Blotts, coming in to get their school supplies, but it felt different seeing them now all dressed up in their robes and waiting to be sorted.</p><p><br/>“Are there fewer of them?” Hermione asked, brow furrowing.</p><p><br/>In fact, the whole hall seemed emptier than she remembered it. Certainly emptier than it should have been, even given the...casualties.</p><p><br/>“Fewer muggleborns. A lot of the parents are still being cautious. Can’t blame them really, considering the last time Voldemort was dead he didn’t really stay that way.” Harry sighed.</p><p><br/>“They’ll come around,” she reassured him.</p><p><br/>He just nodded, eyes trained on the fresh generation of junior witches and wizards before them.</p><p><br/>Hermione’s eyes, though, were on the hat, and so she was ready when it began to sing.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <em>Through ancient magics lost long ago</em>
  <br/>
  <em>The Founder’s made me, friends turned to foes</em>
  <br/>
  <em>My purpose being a simple one</em>
  <br/>
  <em>To tell you which colours to don</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Which house in which you each belong</em>
  <br/>
  <em>But first I sing this simple song</em>
  <br/>
  <em>As I do every fall</em>
  <br/>
  <em>So now I shall remind you all</em>
  <br/>
  <em>That even when friendships seem to fail</em>
  <br/>
  <em>There are some bonds that still prevail</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Should we stand all united</em>
  <br/>
  <em>We may find all wrongs are righted</em>
  <br/>
  <em>In the light of this new day</em>
  <br/>
  <em>House colours seem to fall away</em>
  <br/>
  <em>So though I must pull you apart</em>
  <br/>
  <em>I hope you’ll heed the wisdom I impart</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Gryffindor blood runs red and true,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Ravenclaw skies are clear and blue,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Hufflepuff gold will prove the strongest of metals</em>
  <br/>
  <em>and Slytherin emeralds will prove to have mettle</em>
  <br/>
  <em>In differences there is strength</em>
  <br/>
  <em>But love and loyalty go the greatest lengths</em>
  <br/>
  <em>So let go old wounds and let the past heal</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Or you may find danger most real</em>
</p><p><br/>On that ominous note, the Sorting proceeded quickly and, thankfully, unremarkably. Hermione and Harry lead the applause for every student, regardless of house, and when it was over McGonagall stood.</p><p><br/>“A few words before we begin our feast this year,” she said, clearing her throat. “Firstly, I would like to welcome our two new professors. Professor Hermione Granger-” Loud applause lead by Ginny. “-and Professor Draco Malfoy.”</p><p><br/>Draco’s name was met with a hushed silence, and a few quiet boo’s rang out before McGonagall shot them down with a stern look.</p><p><br/>“As always, I expect new faculty to be treated with the respect and consideration deserving of their position. Any who disregard this will find themselves meeting with hasty consequences. I wish you all a very good year. Let the feast begin!”</p><p><br/>And with that, Hermione’s first year as a professor at Hogwarts began.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. And That Is His Business</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I said biweekly updates, and occasionally I deliver. This chapter is a little low on the Dramione action, but fear not, next chapter will be chock full. I plan to give you all so much slow burn Dramione that your hearts burst. Thanks so much to everyone who commented and left kudos on the last chapter. It really means the world to me! I'm so grateful that you take the time out of your day to read this story and let me know what you think. I hope this chapter exceeds expectations! (d'you see what I did there?)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>           </p>
<p>It was a strange mix of feelings that stirred in Hermione Granger’s chest as she prepared to teach her first class at Hogwarts. Firstly there was fear, as there was before every important new endeavor. Equal but opposite, however, was the flurry of excitement that seemed to buzz in every breath she drew and exclaim itself violently in each of her exhales.</p>
<p>She had carefully laid out each item on her desk with the loving dedication that only a true scholar could achieve for something so simple as a book of spells or the Sneakoscope that Harry had gifted her for her 19th birthday. She suspected it would not remain on her desk long given the levels of deception constantly present among the halls of her old school, but she was hopeful it considered crushes and gossip beneath its notice.</p>
<p>She tried not to think too hard about her school days. If she did, the nostalgia would eat her alive. Despite everything that had happened, there was a part of her that distinctly longed for the days before the wizarding war. Even her Sixth Year, which certainly had been no glowing paragon of idyllic education, had a certain vague, gauzy sense of time-worn innocence to it. Even if it was tainted by the inevitable drama of sixteen-year-olds with magic.</p>
<p>Blessedly, her first class would be full of First Years. Less blessedly, it would be full of First Year Slytherins and Gryffindors. Hermione wasn’t so sure that the lesson would be entirely absent of the interhouse conflict the hat had warned against in its Sorting song. With that in mind, she had gone with a decidedly non-weaponizable transformation for her First Years today.</p>
<p>That was where the most important item on her desk came into play. The box of knuts jangled pleasantly whenever she moved it, and she thought her first lesson to be quite clever in its simplicity. Knuts to buttons. Even her first years should be able to manage that. It was decidedly less hard than the vanishing spells she intended to inflict upon her Seventh Years later that day.</p>
<p>The first students started to trickle in, and Hermione felt her heart constrict. They were so very little she couldn’t help but find it terrifying. She had to tamp down the urge to yank their wands out of their hands, tell them they were all far too young for this, and send them home to their parents with the warning not to stop for any three-headed dogs along the way. A rather small Gryffindor boy with jet black hair breezed by her desk and she caught herself nearly asking him if he’d had enough to eat that morning.</p>
<p><em>Stop that right now, </em>she scolded internally.</p>
<p>She had to firmly remind herself that all of these children would be just fine. She had labored over this lesson plan for months and she was confident in both its safety and effectiveness. She made up her mind to be reasonable about this from now on.</p>
<p>If she had any illusions about not being able to control her unreasonable affections, they stopped the moment a shockingly insolent little Slytherin brunet sneered his way past her to seat himself in the front row. She was going to have to keep an eye on that one. She didn’t like the way he and a little Gryffindor girl were looking at each other, as though they might start pulling hair at any moment.</p>
<p>Once all of her students were seated, she took it upon herself to speak.</p>
<p>“Hello class.”</p>
<p>In return, she received a chorus of, “Hello Professor Granger!”</p>
<p>“As I’m sure you’re all aware, today will be your first day learning the magical art of transfiguration. That is, to transform one thing into another. Transfiguration is one of the most complicated forms of magic, yet also one of the most impressive and useful. Transfiguration can help anywhere from the kitchen to the workplace, and I think you will all find it an indispensible tool.”</p>
<p>A rather squirmy Slytherin seated two rows back raised his hand.</p>
<p>“Yes, Mr. Thorne?” She said it kindly, always one to encourage questions.</p>
<p>“Ma’am, I was wondering if you might show us?”</p>
<p>She couldn’t help but smile at the excitement in his shining brown eyes.</p>
<p>“Of course. What sort of witch would I be if I didn’t come prepared?” She smiled teasingly.</p>
<p>She made a bit of a show of it, unashamedly delighted by the awe on their faces. She raised her wand slowly before flicking it at the Sneakascope which, unfortunately, had indeed started going off the moment her students had started arriving, dampened only by her anticipatory silencio charm. It had nearly rattled itself off the table when, just as it teetered towards the edge, she tranformed it neatly into a canary which promptly took off, swooping around the room as her students cheered. Even her cranky duo in the front were distracted from their enmity for a moment.</p>
<p>“Now, we’ll be starting off with something considerably simpler today, but first I must make sure you all understand your theory. Can anyone tell me Gamp’s Law?”</p>
<p>Immediately, both the Slytherin boy and his Gryffindor rival raised their hands, then, seeing the other had raised their hand, began to glare. Unfortunately for Hermione, they appeared to be the only two with answers, which essentially forced her to call upon one of them. She chose the Gryffindor girl, having already answered a Slytherin question. She didn’t want to start the year off by being unfair.</p>
<p>“Miss Bellweather, yes.”</p>
<p>The little girl sat primly up in her seat, her green eyes pools of eager intelligence. Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if that was what she had looked like when she was that age. With an inward grimace she determined that yes, it probably was exactly what she had looked like.</p>
<p>“Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration states that a witch or wizard cannot, through magic, create something where before there was nothing.”</p>
<p>“Excellent, very good Miss Bellweather.”</p>
<p>She had meant to carry on with her lesson from there, and indeed she had half-turned to her supplies, when she noticed that the little Slytherin boy’s hand had not gone down. Dreading what was to happen next but still hoping for the best, she acknowledged him.</p>
<p>“Yes Mr. Sandoval? Did you have a question?”</p>
<p>“Ma’am, Bellweather forgot to say that there are exceptions to Gamp’s Law. Perhaps I should buy her a remembrall,” he sneered.</p>
<p>Hermione withheld a sigh.</p>
<p>“Mr. Sandoval, that is not an appropriate way to speak to a classma-”</p>
<p>“Perhaps you should, then I can shove it down your throat.” The little girl stood from her desk, bristling and surprisingly violent, something Hermione certainly didn’t remember seeing in herself at that age.</p>
<p>Evidently, Henrietta Bellweather had a temper.</p>
<p>“Miss Bellweather, if you would please sit down we could ju-”</p>
<p>Before she could speak further, both students had their wands drawn. Then, abruptly, they did not. She had collected both of their wands with a quick nonverbal expelliarmus, and they stared at her now, half-astonished and half-angry.</p>
<p>“Detention. Twice a week for the next month. I will not tolerate students pulling their wands on each other in my classes. Do you know the danger you put not only yourself but also your classmates in when you attempt magic more advanced than you are capable of?” </p>
<p>She gave both of them a stern look and they had the good grace to hang their heads.</p>
<p>“Furthermore, I’ll be taking 20 points from both Slytherin and Gryffindor, and neither of you will be participating in the practical section of today’s lesson, since clearly you cannot be trusted with the responsibility of a wand. I hope to see better behavior from both of you in the future.”</p>
<p>“Yes ma’am,” they chorused.</p>
<p>“Right then. Now, the rest of you will be attempting to turn one of these knuts into a button. Anyone who can successfully manage to do so will be allowed to keep their knut.”</p>
<p>It wasn’t much, but the 11 year olds certainly didn’t seem dissatisfied. Hermione supposed that not much seemed like rather a lot when the alternative was nothing.</p>
<p>After teaching the basic theory and assigning Bellweather and Sandoval reading to do, she taught them the incantation and the wand movement. She watched her class set about their attempts to do what any muggle would have considered impossible.</p>
<p>Thorne, the little Slytherin boy who had asked for a demonstration, put in a considerable amount of effort. So far he remained unsuccessful, but she was sure that if he kept trying as hard as he was, he would have it by the end of class. Both his concentration and enthusiasm were unwavering.</p>
<p>A Gryffindor boy with a head full of blond curls seemed to be having a bit of trouble, face screwed up tight as he unsuccessfully attempted the transformation, instead melting his coin. He seemed quite distraught about this, but she quickly set it right, gently correcting his wrist movements and earning a grateful smile out of him. Somehow it seemed as though a whole galleon would have been worth less than the feeling she got from that smile.</p>
<p>Moments later, a significant ruckus started up in the room. She feared at first that Bellweather and Sandoval were at it again, having resorted to physical violence in the absence of their wands, but she was proven happily wrong. In fact, Thorne had finally done it, proudly holding up a round brass button.</p>
<p>“Very good, Mr. Thorne! 5 points to Slytherin,” Hermione praised.</p>
<p>Henrietta groaned theatrically at the disadvantage her house was now set at points-wise.</p>
<p>“Miss Bellweather, rest assured there will be plenty of opportunity for you to earn your house points, rather than lose them,” Hermione said pointedly.</p>
<p>Another Gryffindor in the back crowed delightedly, and Hermione ventured deeper into her classroom to inspect his button and award points as she saw fit.</p>
<p>Overall, aside from the rather unfortunate start she got off to, she determined that her first class had gone rather well. She had transformed the canary back into a Sneakoscope for future demonstrations, and felt rather satisfied. Her second class of the day was also smooth sailing, aside from a few sticky war questions from her Fourth Years that she managed to make her way through. It was not until lunch that Hermione hit a snag in her overall successes.</p>
<p>She was just in the middle of telling Harry about how her first few classes had been and receiving reassurance in the department of just how bad the war fame thing could be when she received an owl. Not thinking much of it, she cracked the wax seal on the letter, opening it to find a letter from Headmistress McGonagall inside.</p>
<p>
  <em>Dear Professor Granger,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I would appreciate your presence in my office after lessons today. I have a matter of some importance I would like to discuss with yourself and Professor Malfoy. Thank you for your cooperation.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Sincerely,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Headmistress Minerva McGonagall</em>
</p>
<p>Malfoy? What could Malfoy possibly have to do with her? Whatever mistakes he was making, those were entirely his business. It worried her deeply that he would be at this meeting, and not only because his presence had never meant anything good for her.</p>
<p>Harry paused in his eating, picking up the distress on her face.</p>
<p>“Anything I should know about?” He asked, brow furrowing.</p>
<p>“McGonagall wants me in her office for a meeting after classes.”</p>
<p>“Okay. I don’t see the problem.” Confident the world wasn’t ending again, he resumed eating, shoveling a generous helping of treacle tart into his mouth and not bothering to swallow before continuing. “She probably just wants to make sure you’re settling in well or something.”</p>
<p>If Hermione had been anyone else he would have been completely incomprehensible, but luckily for her she had years of experience in deciphering Harry Potter mid-mouthful.</p>
<p>“Yes, well, I might have thought the same if she hadn’t also invited Malfoy.”</p>
<p>Harry choked on his nearly swallowed bit of treacle tart.</p>
<p>“Malfoy? Why him?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know.” Hermione frowned.</p>
<p>“Well, don’t panic, ‘Mione. Maybe she’s just giving both of you an introductory speech. Asking how your first days went and all that.”</p>
<p>“Yes. I’m sure that’s it.”</p>
<p>Hermione had suddenly lost her appetite for lunch. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her day seemed to be growing progressively worse. While she had a strong start with her First Years, her last class of the day was the one she had been dreading since waking this morning. Her Seventh Year class felt like one of Trelawney’s prophecies of doom looming over her entire day, and now that it was here she felt more than ever as though she might throw up. </p>
<p>She knew already that it was going to be a rough class. Another combination of Gryffindor and Slytherin, except this time it would be people she actually knew. The bright spot was that Ginny and Neville would be in this class. On a less cheerful note, she knew for a fact some of Malfoy’s old cronies would also be in attendance. Most of them had spent so much time trying to settle court issues that they had missed at least one year, and some of them two. She knew from Harry that Malfoy himself had to pull strings and work overtime to graduate in a timely fashion, and some of his friends, however intelligent, had not been so lucky.</p>
<p>Hermione surveyed her class roster as she waited for her students to begin arriving, looking for the most familiar Slytherin names. There was Pansy Parkinson. She involuntarily made a face at the name. Her memories of the pug-faced girl were not fond.</p>
<p>Peppered throughout the list were other Slytherin names she recognized, including Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini. Those two she felt sure would be trouble. She didn’t remember much of Blaise from their days at school together, but if he was close at all with Malfoy that meant nothing good for her.</p>
<p>“Knock, knock.”</p>
<p>It was Ginny, standing in the doorway of her classroom.</p>
<p>“Oh, is it class time already?” Hermione had been sure she had more time and now felt a harried fear rising in the back of her throat.</p>
<p>“No, I’m just a couple of minutes early. I’m trying to be your star pupil.” Ginny grinned.</p>
<p>“You might have some stiff competition. You know how Pansy Parkinson has always been a favourite of mine,” Hermione teased.</p>
<p>Ginny entered the room more fully, taking it in. It was quite a large room, designed to allow for not just the student body of Hogwarts, but whatever said student body might conjure up. She stopped in front of Hermione’s desk, studying the items laid out. They were the same as this morning, the Sneakoscope motionless for the moment but still catching her attention.</p>
<p>“Is that the Sneakoscope Harry gave you?” She asked.</p>
<p>“Yeah. I was using it for demonstrations in my earlier classes. I’m sure that won’t be necessary for this class though,” Hermione said. “We’re all adults here.”</p>
<p>Ginny flicked the Sneakoscope, causing it to spin. “Yeah, Hermione. Sure.”</p>
<p>More students begin to join her in the classroom, and Ginny took a seat, throwing her legs up onto her desk directly in front of Hermione’s own before Hermione threw her a stern look, not unlike the ones she had been giving First Years this morning. Ginny rolled her eyes but removed her legs from the desk. She started pulling her books out of her bag, setting up her quill and ink pot.</p>
<p>Hermione was just starting to tell herself that this class wouldn’t be as bad as she thought it would be when Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini strode in together.</p>
<p>Mostly she recognized them both from the papers. Theodore had been on the cover of The Daily Prophet for the entirety of his father’s trial, his own, shorter trial, and the subsequent scandal that had followed, including the raiding of the Nott Mansion, with new updates appearing for every cursed magical object that was confiscated. It had been a very long process. </p>
<p>In contrast, Blaise’s sleek, haunting features had been splashed across the pages of Witch Weekly as his mother’s long trail of dead husbands was once again brought into question, his family name dragged through the proverbial mud. Additionally, rumors began to circulate that he had been a Death Eater, despite his lack of a dark mark. Gossip magazines of all kinds claimed that the handsome socialite had been working for the Dark Lord covertly, meant to continue his mission should those with the mark finally find themselves exposed. The speculation and panic that followed that idea had been all Hermione had seen over the last summer.</p>
<p>Neither of those things were Hermione’s immediate problem with the two, however. Her immediate problem had far more to do with the fact that they had each taken a seat beside Ginny, Blaise on her left and Theodore on her right. What on Earth was Malfoy thinking?</p>
<p>This could, after all, only be a Malfoy plan. Why else would these two be plaguing her friends?</p>
<p>Neville entered the classroom, looking much more the war hero than she remembered from the last time she had seen him. He had grown into the role well. Better than herself, at least. His now rugged, handsome adult face contrasted appealingly with the scholarly look of his robes. The glasses on his face rounded out the look, giving the viewer the impression that he might have just walked off the Hogwarts edition of Witch Weekly, usurping Zabini.</p>
<p>He scanned the room and she saw the same realization she had come to on his face. He seemed to assess the threat level of each of the boys beside Ginny, then determinedly took a seat beside Nott, who, while without a mark, had been raised by one of the cruelest of the Death Eaters. </p>
<p>A completely irrational part of Hermione felt a deep need to stop the class right now. She wanted to call it all off and go crawling right back into her bed. Never in her life had she more wanted to hide under the covers. Resisting the impulse, she took a deep breath and reminded herself she had survived far worse than a class populated predominantly by seventeen-year-olds.</p>
<p>“Alright class. Most of you probably know me as it hasn’t been that long since I was one of your classmates, but I’ll introduce myself anyway. I’m Professor Granger, and I’ll be teaching you the magical art of Transfiguration.”</p>
<p>She had barely gotten through her entry speech when Zabini lazily raised a hand, his knees bowed out so far he was nearly touching Ginny.</p>
<p>“Yes, Mr. Zabini?” </p>
<p>“Professor Granger, I was just wondering...could you show us? I heard you did some pretty impressive magic during the war. I’d love to see some of it.”</p>
<p>Perhaps she was reading too much into things, but she was sure he was taunting her.</p>
<p>And here she had thought she wouldn’t have to repeat the same trick. That seemed to be all people wanted from her since the war though. The same trick again and again until someday they would become bored of her, never realizing all that she was capable of.</p>
<p>She looked skeptically at the Sneakoscope before smiling slowly to herself. Raising her wand, she turned it into a canary, just as before. Then she summoned an entire flock of canaries, letting them flap throughout the classroom before promptly vanishing them and returning the Sneakoscope to its former irritating glory. She watched her students react with uninhibited awe, with the exception of a few familiar Slytherin faces.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Professor.” Zabini gave her an easy smile, seeming at last satisfied, if unimpressed.</p>
<p>Today, they worked on vanishing spells, and to Hermione’s great surprise they remained civil about it. Though the tension in the room was clearly high, everyone mostly kept to themselves. Clearly better versed in self-control than her rowdy First Year class. Hermione waited, watching to see who would manage to vanish their object first. To her surprise, it was a face that was just as familiar as it was unfamiliar.</p>
<p>Pansy Parkinson had grown up, and she was no longer pug-faced. Or rather, she was still pug-faced, but it had become far more aesthetically appealing. Perhaps it had been the trials of the past few years that had changed her appearance so much, or perhaps it was just the years in which Hermione had not seen her. Either way, she now had a face that was sleek in the way a Porsche was sleek. There was something reminiscent of an old Muggle movie star in her dark eyes and long lashes that had quite a stunning effect. </p>
<p>In the same way that Hermione could not remember Pansy being quite so pretty in their school years, she had not remembered her being quite so clever.</p>
<p>“Miss Parkinson,” Hermione said, doing a poor job of keeping the surprise out of her voice, despite her best efforts. “That was an excellent vanishment. 20 points to Slytherin.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.” </p>
<p>The words did not sound like thank you. They sounded more like, “Of course. What else would you expect of someone as talented as myself?” Hermione, however, chose not to comment on that.</p>
<p>The class proceeded fairly well, she decided. She certainly had a few weary Slytherins on her hands and more than a few traumatized classmates, but most didn’t linger too long after class to ask questions. Harry had told her the first day would provide something of a bubble of respect before they all decided what to do with her, and he had apparently been right. It struck her as something like the opposite of being a muggle substitute teacher. She was sure her office hours would eventually become horrific, but for the moment she had bigger problems.</p>
<p>Hermione cleared her throat. McGonagall had told her the password to her office at the start of term, catching her shortly after dinner. It felt odd now to be standing at the statue ready to utter a password that had nothing to do with sweets.</p>
<p>“Silver tabby.”</p>
<p>Obligingly, the stone monolith moved aside, allowing Hermione to ascend the spiral staircase. Her steps seemed to clatter quite loudly, and she felt her heartbeat raise entirely unnecessarily, a result of the muscle memory of the very rare occasions upon which she had been called into this office before, most of them not particularly happy. </p>
<p>When she reached the top of the stairs and entered the main sanctuary of the office, she was a bit surprised at what she saw. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but she certainly hadn’t thought she would find it so...unchanged. Many of Dumbledore’s strange instruments still sat on his desk, and aside from the absence of Fawkes and the addition of a few of McGonnagal’s personal items, it was nearly identical. It occured to Hermione that this was probably very difficult for Headmistress McGonagall, seeing as Dumbledore had been not just a colleague but in all likelihood a friend.</p>
<p>“Ah, Professor Granger. You’re early,” McGonagall observed, sitting primly behind Dumbledore’s former desk.</p>
<p>Her hands were folded neatly in front of her, and her keen eyes were fixed on Hermione’s face. She did not look disapproving, but nor did she look pleased. Her neutral expression did nothing to ease Hermione’s nerves.</p>
<p>“Yes, sorry Headmistress.”</p>
<p>“Oh, don’t be sorry. Not a problem at all. Have a seat while we wait for Professor Malfoy, won’t you?”</p>
<p>Hermione obliged her old professor, sitting in one of the rather comfortable duo of chairs positioned in front of the desk, presumably in preparation for this exact scenario.</p>
<p>“How have you been finding your classes so far?” McGonagall inquired.</p>
<p>“Quite lovely,” Hermione said, an enthusiastic smile coming to her face unbidden. “My first years are really an astoundingly talented bunch, aside from a couple of troublemakers.”</p>
<p>McGonagall smiled, and if Hermione didn’t know better she might think the headmistress was laughing at some joke she was not yet in on.</p>
<p>“Yes, well, as always Professor Granger, you seem to have cut to the heart of the issue.”</p>
<p>“I’m not sure I take your meaning, Headmistress.” Hermione frowned.</p>
<p>McGonagall seemed ready to elaborate when she was interrupted by a familiar drawling tone from behind.</p>
<p>“Well I would apologize for being late but it seems as though Granger should apologize for being early.”</p>
<p>She stiffened. “I’ve already done as much, Malfoy.”</p>
<p>“Good. Then I suppose we can carry on.” </p>
<p>He sat down in the chair next to her, and Hermione had to bite her tongue not to say anything about his complete lack of manners. Not only had he not been invited to sit there, but the sheer entitlement oozing out of every pore, with every move...she couldn’t imagine it. What must it have been like, to have been born with a silver spoon in his mouth? To have never spent a day wondering whether he was valued or loved, to have been constantly held above others as superior, never having to work for anything? It was instilled so deeply in him that even now, even after a fall that he surely could not have predicted, it was still his defining characteristic.</p>
<p>Hermione realized, with a sour taste in her mouth, that she was rather glad not to know what that was like. She watched him lean back, the platinum of his hair glinting under the lights of the Headmistress’s office, and knew that she would never consider it a fault that she herself was incapable of forgetting where she was, and, in fact, who she was. She would never have Draco Malfoy’s blindness, and she recognized that for what it was. A blessing.</p>
<p>“Professors, I wish I had better news for you, but unfortunately I believe I would be remiss in referring to this as anything other than a serious situation.”</p>
<p>Hermione felt every bone in her body freeze. What was it? Was the school under threat? Had Voldemort somehow, however unlikely, found a way to return? She felt the overwhelming urge to vomit, gripping at her wand in the pocket of her robes.</p>
<p>“Professor Granger actually just brought it up. Both of you, I understand, have had trouble with Mr. Sandoval and Ms. Bellweather.”</p>
<p>Hermione visibly relaxed before turning to Malfoy. “Wait, those two gave you trouble as well?”</p>
<p>Malfoy scowled, which she noticed did not look much different from his usual expression. </p>
<p>“As a matter of fact, they did. Blew up a potion. Sandoval no longer has eyebrows, needless to say. Seemed a rather fitting punishment.”</p>
<p>“Yes, well, speaking of punishments,” McGonagall went on, “you have both assigned Mr. Sandoval and Ms. Bellweather detention.”</p>
<p>It was Hermione’s turn to frown, her brows coming together in a worried wrinkle.</p>
<p>“I’m not sure I see the problem, Headmistress.”</p>
<p>“Well Professor Granger, interhouse relationships have been rather stressed since the war. Mr. Sandoval and Ms. Bellweather are just the most recent display of conflict between Slytherin and the other houses, particularly Gryffindor. Which leads me to a favor I have to ask of you both. I would like for you two to run Mr. Sandoval and Ms. Bellweather’s detentions together, as a show of unity between the two houses.”</p>
<p>“Prof-Headmistress!” </p>
<p>Hermione protested at the same time as Malfoy’s indignant, “Absolutely not!”</p>
<p>“Professor Granger. Professor Malfoy.” Headmistress McGonagall gave them both a daunting look over the top of her glasses, sufficiently cowing them. “Do you know why I chose you two to be professors at this school?”</p>
<p>They both waited expectantly, and Hermione, for her part, felt like she was 15 again, or quite possibly even younger. Headmistress McGonagall leaned forward over her desk, templing her hands in a way that reminded Hermione of the office’s previous occupant.</p>
<p>“I chose the two of you not just because I knew you to be two of the best and brightest to ever attend Hogwarts, but because I also believed you to be two of the most rational people to ever attend this school. I believed you capable of putting aside past prejudices in ways your ancestors were unwilling or unable to do. In choosing the two of you, I had hoped that you would be able to present yourselves in a manner appropriate to not only your station at this school but also the man and woman I know you to be. In short, I chose you because you were the two applicants who could best demonstrate interhouse cooperation in a way that would truly impact this school and its students.</p>
<p>“That being said, I fully expect you two to set aside your differences and be able to oversee a few simple detentions together. Having overseen many detentions myself during the span of my career, I can assure you that you are both more than capable of accomplishing this. Now, do I have your cooperation in this?”</p>
<p>“Yes, headmistress,” was their unanimous answer.</p>
<p>“But, Headmistress,” Malfoy continued, “what if Granger and I assigned different detentions?”</p>
<p>“I trust you and Professor Granger are capable of working that out amongst yourselves, Professor Malfoy. Now, if neither of you have other concerns to bring to me, I believe that will be all.”</p>
<p>They both nodded, Hermione standing up out of her chair neatly and Malfoy exiting his seat in the same fluid way that he had entered it.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Professors.”</p>
<p>They both nodded as they walked out the door, Malfoy shamelessly leading the way and not so much as bothering to hold it open for her. Just as Hermione was half through, McGonagall spoke one more time.</p>
<p>“Oh, and one more thing. Congratulations on your first day.”</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. He Did Not Know I Saw</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hermione discovers new facets to Draco as they hold detention together. She and Harry then discuss the possibilities (and impossibilities) of redemption.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Alright, so obviously this update is very, very late. I don't need to tell you guys that things have been crazy lately since it's been crazy for all of us since the beginning of the year. While I shouldn't make excuses, I absolutely will here. I just started a new job, and everything has been super hectic because of that. Now, though, I'm kind of settling into a steady schedule and I'm probably going to be able to get back to my biweekly updates. Thank you so much if you're still here! I love and appreciate each and every one of you! Your comments make my day and mean more to me than you could possibly know.<br/>Much love!<br/>- graveyard_of_buried_hopes</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It would be an exaggeration to say that Hermione was unhappy about the prospect of running detention with Malfoy. An exaggeration of her patience and her ability to forgive. She was far past simply ‘unhappy’ and well into irate.</p>
<p>She was pacing the floor of Harry’s office now, for once pleased at his uncompromising ability to be opposed to Draco Malfoy no matter what the situation. </p>
<p>“This is absolutely absurd. I mean, I understand why McGonagall had to do it, but still...why you?” Harry leaned forward onto his desk, brows furrowed together over his glasses, face contorted in his frustration. “Doesn’t she know your history? If she needed a Gryffindor professor, she could have picked me!”</p>
<p>“Bellweather and Sandoval didn’t give you any problems though. Still too scared of the Chosen One, probably.” Hermione rolled her eyes.</p>
<p>“How are you so calm about this? It’s <em>Malfoy</em>, Hermione.” He looked up at her, eyes wide.</p>
<p>“I would hardly call this calm, Harry. I’m just trying to make the best of a bad situation.” </p>
<p>In truth, it had always helped her to take distressing things to Harry. He had a knack for expressing what she was feeling, an oddly relaxing phenomenon. More often than not, Harry had her outbursts for her. It was reassuring in a way, knowing that she wasn’t the only person feeling what she was feeling. </p>
<p>“It’s just not right.” Harry buried his face in his hands, dark hair flying wild at his fingertips.</p>
<p>“I’m not too pleased about it either,” Hermione admitted.</p>
<p>She finally abandoned her pacing to take a seat opposite Harry. His desk was far more cluttered than hers, scattered with gifts from students, something she had yet to earn. Some of them were from last year, some seemed to be more recent.</p>
<p>Hermione knew that Harry rarely accepted gifts, but he made exceptions for ones his students made themselves, whether through magical or muggle means. Just near his left elbow she spotted the pot of magicked hair dye responsible for the bright green and red locks he had worn with pride last Christmas.</p>
<p>“There has to be something we can do. Anything. Shorten their detentions? I mean, what kind of detention needs two teachers?” </p>
<p>Hermione smiled wryly. “The very exciting kind.”</p>
<p>“Maybe that’s what you should do!” Harry stood from his desk in the rush of his epiphany. “Just make the detention so busy that Malfoy will have no opportunity to mess with you. I mean, you’re a scheduling genius, ‘Mione. It should be no trouble to plan out every minute.”</p>
<p>Hermione wouldn’t say <em>no</em> trouble. While it was true she enjoyed a good schedule, that didn’t mean they didn’t take time to make. Sometimes she wondered if the process of making the schedule was worth the peace of knowing how her day was going to proceed. In a castle like Hogwarts though, there was really no other option. Things were too busy, staircases changing by the minute, poltergeists swooping in indiscriminately to ruin student’s days. You really had to plan out your every move if you wanted to effectively do anything, something she felt Ron and Harry had never properly appreciated.</p>
<p>Still, it wasn’t a bad idea.</p>
<p>“I could probably make that work. If I just schedule different activities for every 15 minutes, the process of facilitating the change alone should take approximately-”</p>
<p>“Hermione, you know I love you, but it’s deathly dull when you schedule out loud.” He tempered the comment with a fond smile.</p>
<p>“Right. Sorry. Well, regardless, I think you’ve helped me out quite a bit, Harry. Thank you.”</p>
<p>“My door is always open, Miss Granger.” He winked, glasses flashing in the light.</p>
<p>“Likewise, Mr. Potter. Let me know if I can return the favor.”</p>
<p>She was half-turned towards the door, ready to leave, when he stopped her.</p>
<p>“Actually, there is one thing.”</p>
<p>She paused in the doorway, leaning back to face him better. One hand gripped the dark wood of the doorframe, nails pressed flush against the forest green of his walls. </p>
<p>“I’d like to take Ginny out to celebrate being back and everything, and I was thinking about taking her to that new place in Diagon, since 8th years can leave school grounds on the weekends. Do you think she’d like it, or would it be too stuffy?”</p>
<p>Hermione knew what restaurant he was talking about. It was quite classy, the sort of place where you could order a charcuterie board for dessert. While it was certainly nice, Harry knew Ginny well, and his suspicions were right on the nose. She was almost certain that Ginny would feel stifled and awkward, and her friend would likely prefer a Muggle diner over the restaurant.</p>
<p>She said as much to Harry.</p>
<p>“I thought so, but I wanted to check. I don’t want to underwhelm her, you know?” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, a worried habit he had picked up on their horcrux hunt. “I just want her to be comfortable and happy, but sometimes I think I overthink it.”</p>
<p>“You’ve known Ginny for years, Harry. You know what she likes. My advice would be to trust your gut, because more often than not, it’s correct. You’ve certainly proven that enough times over the years.”</p>
<p>They both shared a laugh thinking about their past brushes with death.</p>
<p>“Thanks Hermione. Good luck with the Malfoy thing.” </p>
<p>“Good luck with your date. Remember, trust your gut.”</p>
<p>He flashed her a double thumbs up, and she just managed to catch it over her shoulder as she headed out of his office.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hermione had never actually run a detention before, and she was not ashamed to admit that she was a little nervous for this, her first. Especially knowing that Malfoy would be involved in the whole affair. It was not a comforting thought, considering he had spent the majority of their formative years undermining her limited authority. </p>
<p>In an attempt to be one step ahead of him, she resolved to arrive early at the classroom they would be holding detention in.  It had been decided between Malfoy and herself that Tuesdays and Thursdays would work best for both of their respective schedules. So now, on a Tuesday night in late fall, she headed down to the dungeons.</p>
<p>When she stepped foot into the potions classroom, it was as empty as she had hoped for. While the space was less than ideal, Malfoy had made several irrefutable points as to why it would make for a better detention classroom. Primarily he argued that there were plenty of cauldrons to be scrubbed clean, and if she wanted to work the charms to get them upstairs then far be it from him to stop her.</p>
<p>She had not wanted to work the charms to get them upstairs.</p>
<p>Now, she wrote her schedule out on the board. The detention would be an hour long, and she had her two students on rotating activities every 15 minutes. They would start with scrubbing cauldrons, as Malfoy had so helpfully suggested, and then they would move to writing lines. After that, she had set them to 15 minutes of sorting flobberworms, a rotten task at the best of times, and finally polishing a few pieces of silver she had charmed down from the trophy case.</p>
<p>In a show of arrogance Hermione would have attributed only to him, Malfoy dared to be late to his own detention.</p>
<p>Bellweather and Sandoval arrived precisely on time, looking quite nervous. Hermione’s heart softened a little at the sight of them, Bellweather tugging on a pigtail braid and Sandoval scuffing his shoes against the frozen stones of the dungeons.</p>
<p>She instructed them both to sit and had just started allowing herself to hope Malfoy wouldn’t show up when he swooped into the dungeons like a bat out of hell. Or into it, as fate would have it. He was appropriately dressed for the occasion, a dark cloak obscuring whatever else he might have been wearing and protecting him from the icy temperatures of the dungeons.</p>
<p>“Gracious, Granger, perform a warming charm, why don’t you?” With a flick of his wand, he raised the temperature of the dungeons. “Are you a witch or not?”</p>
<p>It was only after his little show that Hermione observed how, indeed, poor little Sandoval had been shivering, having forgotten his coat. She berated herself for her own stupidity in forgetting to do something so simple. She had made a note of it when she had arrived, but had gotten so caught up in her setup that she forgot about it entirely.</p>
<p>Malfoy glanced at the board, casting off his own coat and throwing it over an empty chair. Bellweather slipped out of hers as well, a smug look on her face as she tilted her chin at Sandoval. Not a promising start at all.</p>
<p>“Alright, you both know why you’re here today. Irresponsible use of your magic, reckless endangerment of classmates, and er…” She glanced to Malfoy.</p>
<p>“Exploding of potions and general naughtiness.” He smiled in a way that seemed engineered to egg them on.</p>
<p>“Yes, that.” Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Well, as you can see on the board you will be set up into 15 minute intervals of these 4 activities, starting with magicless cauldron cleaning. I expect Professor Malfoy and I will not have to explain to you how to use a scrub brush?” </p>
<p>Both children shook their heads.</p>
<p>“Excellent. You may start.”</p>
<p>Hermione set her timer to alert them when 15 minutes had passed as they picked up the necessary tools off of the trays set up near each of them and started in on their assigned cauldrons. She had just pulled out a book, resolved to read for the next 15 minutes, when Malfoy sauntered over to her and leaned up against the mahogany of his desk. </p>
<p>“I see you took it upon yourself to schedule,” he drawled.</p>
<p>Hermione grit her teeth at the indolence dripping off every syllable. Malfoy had always had a lazy way of doing things, enabled by the wealth of opportunity and...well, wealth available to him. He had probably never written a proper schedule in his life.</p>
<p>Looking at him now, it was clear he was the poster pretty boy for ‘posh’. Long pale fingers and platinum hair falling carelessly down over his eyes just slightly, a Slytherin green jumper in evidence underneath his usual black robes. His hands were smooth and well-manicured, clear evidence he had never worked a day in his life.</p>
<p>“Might I suggest an amendment?” He raised a pale brow, almost translucent under the glow of the dungeon lights.</p>
<p>“Suggest whatever you like, Malfoy. That doesn’t mean I have to listen.”</p>
<p>He smirked as though he had expected just that answer. “Get rid of the lines. They’re an archaic form of punishment and entirely useless. Instead, have them read their textbooks. A far better use of both of our time, wouldn’t you agree?”</p>
<p>Hermione wanted to protest, but she stopped. She supposed, all things considered, it was rather reasonable that he wanted some input into this process. Additionally, his request was not intolerable. Though she was loath to admit it, he made a good point.</p>
<p>“Very well. They’ll read their transfiguration text, then.” She looked him right in the eye, daring him to challenge her.</p>
<p>“As you wish.” </p>
<p>He gave her the same slow smile he had offered their students, the one that seemed designed to encourage things it shouldn’t, and despite herself she felt some of her anger towards him gently melt away. He was still a horrible person, but at least he could be negotiated with. Hermione had encountered far worse in her time.</p>
<p>The hourglass on the table began speaking. “Time’s up! Time’s up! You have run out of time! Your time is up!”</p>
<p>Hermione quickly reset the charm, silencing its shrill ministrations. Looking over to her students, she saw that Bellweather and Sandoval already appeared exhausted, their tiny bodies slumped over the cauldrons she had assigned to them.</p>
<p>“Alright, slight change of plan. Rather than writing lines, I would like the two of you to read from your transfiguration textbooks for the next 15 minutes. Understood?”</p>
<p>Both nodded, looking relieved not to have to work their arms any harder. Unexpectedly, a thought tapped at the back of Hermione’s mind suggesting that perhaps Malfoy had done this on purpose. It seemed ridiculous that he would consider any human being outside of their value to him personally, and yet she could not deny the evidence before her. Had Draco Malfoy just done something nice?</p>
<p>She cast her gaze over to him as Bellweather and Sandoval began their reading, and he met it. For a moment, she just stared at him, question in her eyes, brown on blue. </p>
<p>“Not a bad system, this, Granger. Other than your idiotic misunderstanding of the fundamental nature of detentions. That shouldn’t be surprising though, considering I doubt you ever had a detention yourself.”</p>
<p>He wasn’t wrong. Hermione had always been a model student, with the notable exception of her 5th year, which she did not count as a true exception. It still smarted though to be accused of idiocy by, of all people, Malfoy.</p>
<p>“Well, I suppose you’re less of a Neanderthal than I might have supposed, given you’re able to see the merits of my system, Professor Malfoy.” She narrowed her eyes at him.</p>
<p>He started a retort but stopped rather suddenly. A sharp grin curved across his face. He looked rather like the cat that caught the canary.</p>
<p>“You must think rather poorly of me if you think me so foolish as to not be able to see your brilliance, Professor Granger.”</p>
<p>Was that...a compliment? She was certainly led to believe it was by the way he rested his hand on the desk, leaning forward to thoroughly invade her personal space. What was he doing?</p>
<p>She was saved from having to decide what to do about that by Sandoval, who, bless his heart, chose that moment to raise his hand.</p>
<p>“Yes, Mr. Sandoval?” Hermione asked.</p>
<p>“Professor, I’m not sure I understand this part.”</p>
<p>His brows were furrowed in concentration as he stared down at the page. Hermione smiled softly, stepping forward to come take a look. She was interrupted, however, by Bellweather’s snide commentary.</p>
<p>“Ha! How stupid of you, Sandoval. This is easy. Child’s play.” </p>
<p>Hermione had just opened her mouth to retort when Malfoy beat her to it.</p>
<p>“Miss Bellweather, that is not how we speak to our classmates.” His voice was kind but firm. “I doubt Mr. Sandoval appreciates your commentary any more than you appreciate his. Aside from that, it is not now, nor will it ever be, stupid to ask for help. Many a terrible mistake could have been avoided by doing so.”</p>
<p>His voice took on a wistful tinge at the end, and immediately Hermione’s mind flew to a thousand different scenarios. She wondered how different their lives would be now if he had reached out that miserable Sixth Year. It struck her how young they had been, how difficult everything was to navigate in a world where they were but pawns in a greater game, no map for the chessboard they had stumbled onto, soldiers for two men who had been fighting a war longer than they had been alive.</p>
<p>She found her voice. “Professor Malfoy is right. Sometimes the smartest, best thing you can do is ask for help. While I can’t speak for anyone other than myself, you will always find help at my door.”</p>
<p>“Mine as well. No matter what.”</p>
<p>In that moment, Hermione felt as though something important were happening. It was as though every ill feeling she had toward Malfoy was a red string, tying them together in a long history of blood and pain, and whatever had just occurred had simply...snapped one of the strings. Like a marionette coming free. It wasn’t much, only a pinky finger, but it felt momentous to Hermione, who couldn’t remember a day without it. She turned back to the task at hand, feeling slightly less dreadful than before.</p>
<p>“Now, Sandoval, let’s see if we can’t figure out this passage together, shall we?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hermione was quite exhausted once she had finished running detention with Malfoy. While the classes she had held before it had all gone mostly smoothly, it had been a long day. She certainly didn’t have the energy to unpack whatever had happened between her and Malfoy during the course of the detention. </p>
<p>Had she discovered she might have the capacity not to hate him with her entire being? Sure. Would she go so far as to call that bonding? Certainly not.</p>
<p>Despite her exhaustion, Hermione still had some lesson planning to do. Rather than do it alone in her rooms, she decided to head to the teacher’s lounge. She knew that there, at least, the fire would be blazing and there would be refreshments waiting.</p>
<p>When she arrived, Harry was already there, deep into his lesson planning already. At first Hermione hadn’t realized that was what it was, given she had spent half of her time at Hogwarts trying to persuade Harry to just sit down and do his homework. Now though, his hair was a mess, more so than usual, and he seemed incapable of keeping his left hand away from his glasses, a sure sign of agitation.</p>
<p>“How is it going?” She asked lightly.</p>
<p>Harry jumped anyway, years of instinct kicking in.</p>
<p>“Oh! Hermione!” He smiled. “It’s going pretty well. I think I just about have things set up the way I’d like them. It’s just a matter of time parameters really, but it’s still fairly early in the semester, so I suppose I could always let one lesson bleed into the next one and hope that doesn’t come back to bite me later.”</p>
<p>“I would suggest you just plan out the whole semester all at once but even I don’t have the time for that.” </p>
<p>She settled next to him on the golden yellow velvet sofa. Unlike the common rooms, the professor’s lounge wasn’t themed off of one house colour alone. Each of the house colours was represented in various different ways, from deep blue curtains to red throw pillows to emerald carpets, somehow managing to remain tasteful against all odds. Hermione supposed that was a magic of its own.</p>
<p>“How about you?” Harry asked. “How did detention go?”</p>
<p>“Not nearly as terrible as I thought it would. I can see why McGonagall chose Malfoy as a professor. He’s quite good with children.” </p>
<p>Hermione reached for one of the lemon drop biscuits sitting on the coffee table between them and the fire.</p>
<p>“Malfoy? The same Malfoy we went to school with?” Harry stared at her as though she had grown another head.</p>
<p>“No, Harry, the other Malfoy. The elder Malfoy, who always had such a gentle hand with his own son.” Hermione heard the note of bitterness in her voice and thought it more than justified, the behavior of said son notwithstanding.</p>
<p>“Well, I suppose it makes sense, given that Malfoy himself is basically a glorified child.” Harry scowled.</p>
<p>“Harry, I think you can allow the man one good trait. I was just as reluctant to see any good in him, but he has a talent for reassuring them. He’s a nurturer.”</p>
<p>The words felt wrong on her tongue in context, and Harry clearly seemed to agree.</p>
<p>“Malfoy? A nurturer? I’m pretty sure I remember him not even being able to keep his plants alive in herbology.”</p>
<p>“Plants and children are not the same thing Harry, and you would do well to remember that if you ever plan on having any of your own,” Hermione said, faintly amused at the comparison as she nibbled at her biscuit. “Regardless, I think if you saw him you would understand better. He reminds me of someone, but I can’t think of who.”</p>
<p>It had been nagging at her since the detention. There was something in his wistful tone when he started talking about asking for help that had struck a chord in her. It had thrown her into a half-distinct memory that she couldn’t seem to put her finger on, whether because she had only experienced it the once and forgot about it, or perhaps experienced it so many times that she could not pick one distinct person out of the long list of memories that it brought to mind.</p>
<p>“I’ll take your word for it, Hermione. I suppose we’ve seen worse monsters.”</p>
<p>They certainly had, but Hermione didn’t like the way he’d phrased it.</p>
<p>“I certainly wouldn’t call him a monster, Harry. An idiot, surely, but a monster? That feels rather harsh.”</p>
<p>“Hermione, I hardly think I need to remind you what his family did to you!” Harry’s green eyes were blown wide.</p>
<p>Hermione reached for her arm, the phantom pain crawling up at the mere mention of it.</p>
<p>“No Harry. I remember quite clearly. However, I’ll beg you to remember that it was his family who did that, not him. I hardly think I need to remind you that one is not the actions of one’s family.”</p>
<p>“He watched, Hermione.” Harry’s jaw flexed. “He stood there, and he watched. Don’t try to tell me that doesn’t at least make him complicit. John Stuart Mill said, ‘The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.’ Malfoy did nothing and he wasn’t even a good man!”</p>
<p>“No, you’re right. He wasn’t a good man. He was a scared boy. You two aren’t so dissimilar, you know that?”</p>
<p>Harry reeled back as though she had struck him. In fact, if she hadn’t known any better, she would have sworn that she had, which would have given him and Malfoy another thing in common. As things were, it was clear she had wounded him emotionally, if not physically.</p>
<p>“I am <em>nothing </em>like him. I would never do that to you Hermione. I would never let them do that to you.”</p>
<p>Hermione softened, reaching for Harry’s hand. </p>
<p>“That’s not what I meant, Harry. Listen, I’m not trying to go all Team Malfoy on you. Far from it. However, you have to admit that had things gone differently, he could have just as easily been your friend. Could have been rather like you. Honestly, I’m not sure that, logically speaking, we can even entirely blame him for anything that happened through Sixth and Seventh Year. As terrible as it all was, Voldemort constantly had a wand to his head, metaphorically speaking.</p>
<p>“I’m not sure I can forgive him and I know I’ll never forget, but that doesn’t make him some horrible, corrupt soul. It just makes him a scared kid conditioned to think he was doing the right thing. I think the fact that he was able to recognize he was in the wrong was a power in and of itself. Any of us could have done the same under similar circumstances, as much as we may not want to admit it. I mean, if Ron’s parents had been different people he could have been just like Draco.”</p>
<p>Harry’s body slumped forward against the warm tones of the couch, head buried in his hands. His fingers drove through the dark mass of his hair, carving long, pale furrows along his scalp. A younger Harry Potter, Hermione knew, would have protested until his last breath. This Harry Potter however was older and wiser, had died and come back to life, and understood things Harry perhaps had not in their Sixth Year. This meant that instead of saying Malfoy was a monster beyond saving, he chose different words.</p>
<p>“You’re right. I don’t think Malfoy is...like Voldemort, or anything like that. That doesn’t mean that what he did was excusable though. That doesn’t make any of it okay.”</p>
<p>Hermione shook her head. She would be the first to agree with him on that. </p>
<p>“You’re right. I just think we should give him a chance.”</p>
<p>She had years of scars inflicted by Malfoy. She knew better than most how cruel he had been, and understood that he had made his choices. She still hoped though that in the future, he would make better ones. She hoped that other girls didn’t have to carry mudblood on their arm because of Draco Malfoy or anyone like him.</p>
<p>She hoped the world could get better.</p>
<p>She would make the world better.</p>
<p>“I hope he’s worth whatever mercy you’re willing to offer.”</p>
<p>“Me too, Harry. Me too.”</p>
<p> </p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Author's Note</h2></a>
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    <p>Hey guys! This is just to let you know I haven't abandoned this story, I've just been moving and I've had really bad writer's block. Thank you so much to everyone who is still reading! I'm hoping to get another chapter done this month (seeing as I've been working on it since July and just hate everything I write, haha) and really start the plot of this rolling.<br/>As another note, the updates of this story are now going to be monthly. I thought I could do biweekly, but with my classes back I just don't think I'll have the time. If I can update more, I will, but for now assume monthly.<br/>I'll probably delete this later, but just wanted to let all of you know. Again, thank you so much for reading, commenting, and caring at all about what I write!<br/>  —The Author</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. She Dances Like A Bomb</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay, so, this has been a long time coming. For those who didn't read the author's note in the chapter before this, I had a really bad bout of writer's block recently. I kept rewriting this, and just when I was almost finished, my computer decided to entirely delete half of the chapter, which meant another rewrite. I also just recently moved, and was briefly dealing with a family crisis. All this to say, this might not be my best chapter, but I hope you guys like it anyway. I enjoyed reading it back while editing, so hopefully it is everything that I hope it is. Thank you so much to all of you for reading and for sticking with this story even when I have been a flake. Updates should be monthly from now on, provided no further catastrophes stop me.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Daphne’s hands had once been soft. She remembered the days they were nothing but silk, ebony gloves and emerald rings and blissful, blissful ignorance. Those days were long past.</p><p>These days her hands were defined and outlined by scars, tiny little things that webbed out over them. Leftover souvenirs of a futile war. Futile for her and everyone like her, all those selfish souls that hadn’t chosen a side. She had been a foolish, silly little girl who hadn’t chosen a side, and had scars to show for it. Just little ones. As small as her decisions back then.</p><p>She twirled her quill between her scarred hands, staring out onto the Hogwarts grounds. It felt strange to be back here again, after the trials and the media circus that had been her life. Like traveling in time, going back to a girl she had once known only to find that no matter where she went, she remained as haunted as the school’s hollow halls.</p><p>She leaned back in her seat, trying to grow ever less conspicuous in the far corner of the library she resided in. Not even Slytherin house was safe for her kind now. Her parents had played with fire and Daphne had been burned. Blessed not to be branded, and yet branded all the same. Daphne Greengrass, social pariah to everyone who didn’t have Death Eater ties. Sometimes she despised her parents for that. Sometimes she despised herself for it.</p><p>Before she could spiral further, a familiar pair of slick, shining black shoes propped themselves up on the table and prompted her to scowl.</p><p>“Theo, put your feet down,” she whispered.</p><p>“Why? Nobody can see us back here in this secluded little corner you’ve chosen.”</p><p>Theodore Nott was one of the few constants in Daphne’s life. Somehow, he maintained the pure, untainted smugness he had been known for before the war, and it bled into who he was now, leaning back on two feet of his chair with his arms crossed behind his head. Infuriating.</p><p>“I came back here specifically not to call attention to myself. If you’re going to drag every eye in the library down to this table, I will have to exile you at once.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t want that, now would we?” </p><p>He grinned mockingly, but the feet came down all the same.</p><p>“So, have you had a class with Malfoy yet?”</p><p>He asked the question like he didn’t know her schedule like the back of his hand, like he didn’t sometimes haunt her through the hallways, a guardian angel or a prowling wolf. </p><p>“Yes. Yesterday, 4th period. You had him 2nd.” She knew him just as well, and was unafraid to prove it.</p><p>“Yeah. Still a smarmy bastard, isn’t he?”</p><p>Daphne gave him a pointed look. “Some things just never change, do they?”</p><p>“In my defense, I’m a handsome smarmy bastard.” </p><p>Theo leaned across the table towards her, a roguish grin drawn across his features. On any other girl, his charms might have worked, but Daphne was immune to his power. She had seen him in far too many compromising situations to be wooed by a single smile.</p><p>“Draco is handsome as well, you’ll recall.” </p><p>She didn’t bother looking up from her book as she said it, thumbing through the pages of Hogwarts a History, trying to find something good for Binns’ class. </p><p>“Ah yes. His war veteran status makes him the envy of us all,” Theo drawled.</p><p>“I doubt you envy Draco Malfoy, seeing as you’ve still refused to talk to him the entire time we’ve been here,” she said.</p><p>“Draco and I weren’t exactly great mates in school. As kids, sure, but then he went all doom and gloom, and I didn’t <em>want </em>to get matching tattoos.” </p><p>Daphne glanced to his left arm, conscious of the clean slate of skin just underneath the stark white of his shirt. That had been a narrow thing. The elder Nott would have had his son marked 10 times over, the infamous snake on every limb if the Dark Lord would have allowed it, but alas. Youthful recruits were generally considered useless.</p><p>She didn’t say anything about that.</p><p>“He’s a good professor,” she said instead. “Taught in a way I could understand without being boring. It’s no wonder McGonagall replaced Slughorn with him.”</p><p>Theo scoffed, dark black hair falling into his eyes. “Slughorn was a hack. He saw students as connections, not people.”</p><p>“Yes,” Daphne mused. “Well, not our problem anymore, is he? Retired.”</p><p>“Thank goodness.”</p><p>“Don’t count your blessings too quickly. We still have to deal with Professor Draco.”</p><p>Perhaps it was unkind of Daphne to hold Draco to his past sins. After all, her family had been far from innocent. She was complicit in the horrible crimes that had happened, and she would bear that responsibility for the rest of her life. That being said, if it was unkind, perhaps it was also <em>fair</em> that she held Draco to his past sins. The world was not a forgiving place, nor was Slytherin house. Daphne had learned young that ambition was a two-edged sword.</p><p>            Much of Slytherin believed there was a balance to the world. In order for one to rise, another must fall. <em>Descendimus ad oriri. </em> </p><p>            “Draco will be fine. Like you said, he’s a good teacher. Gives Slytherin house too many points, but that’s nothing new. Not an advantage we’re above taking.” </p><p>            Theo stood from the stiff-backed chair at last, unable to sit still any longer. Daphne thought for a moment he would leave, but instead he began to peruse the nearby shelves of books, ignoring the vast library available to him in favor of hovering. He struck quite the figure in the low lighting of their sacred corner, the sharp angles of him seeping into the shadows as though he were blurring at the edges, unfocused ink smeared across the pages of a wall of untold stories, dark, beaten spines curving like his own.</p><p>            “You should stand straighter. You’ll break your back like that.”</p><p>            He gave her a smile, carefree as ever.</p><p>“Don’t worry about me Daph. I’ve put my spine through much worse, and yet, I can’t seem to ditch it.”</p><p>“Fine, but don’t blame me when you end up in St. Mungo’s.” </p><p>She flopped back in her chair, abandoning her book. Her soft brown hair cascaded down the planes of her chest, reaching low and long, wisping tendrils still clinging to the pages of the book before her. She frowned. She had started losing hair at some point in the middle of the war, and clumps of it had been coming out in the shower for the last year or so, ever since the trials started. Not enough to be noticeable, but all the hair growth potions she had gone through still worried her.</p><p>“You’re frowning, which means you’re thinking too hard. You have two options. Tell me what it is or stop thinking and doom yourself to a brain-dead existence.” </p><p>He pulled a rather thick book off the shelf, and Daphne could tell by the shape, size, and the amount of dust that had clouded around him and coated his hair upon pulling it, that he had chosen it for the sole reason that he thought it would make him look smart. Instead it made him look like a dust bunny. A smart dust bunny, but a dust bunny.</p><p>“Option 3. I cast a cleaning charm on you.” She performed the spell even through his protests. “Are you going to the game two weeks from now?”</p><p>“Am I going? I would be playing in it if they would let me,” Theo enthused.</p><p>Quidditch was an easy and reliable way to distract him. Daphne had found this was true for many boys, most effective in the case of Oliver Wood. She half-believed the rumors that had circulated about him her 6th year, saying he had eloped with a broom and married it in favor of any human partner.</p><p>“You’re far too old to fairly play Quidditch against a bunch of 3rd Years Theo, don’t be ridiculous.” Daphne leaned forward again, turning the page of her book.</p><p>“Who said anything about fair? I plan to win, not be fair.”</p><p>“Do you plan to pass your exams too? Because I think you have to study to do that.”</p><p>“I <em>am</em> studying.” He thunked down the large book on the table, scattering more dust for Daphne to clean. “I’m sure you think I have nefarious reasons for everything I do, but I will have you know this is class relevant material.”</p><p>Daphne leaned over to better study the ancient tome. Sprawled across the front of the leather cover was the title, <em>Magick Moste Anchient</em>, which she could only assume was the original name, spelled out some time in the early A.D. years.</p><p>“Is this for Binns’ class?” she asked.</p><p>“Yeah. He asked us to write that paper on something in wizarding history that holds historical relevance today, remember? I’m choosing muggle and wizarding relationships. I have this theory that McGonagall secretly grades all of Binns’ papers for him, or at least checks them, so I’m hoping to get in good with her.”</p><p>Daphne raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Ah, right. You, who’ve always been so good about muggles. What are you going to say? ‘The toaster was an indispensable invention for all of mankind, with the exception of the wizarding communities, who had already learned to make hot, crunchy bread.’”</p><p>“Hold on, wait, I didn’t have a pen. Can you say that again? This time with a definition of toaster?”</p><p>Daphne sighed. She, unlike Theo, actually did have an interest in muggle culture. After the war she had made an effort to learn more about them and how they had been affected by the wizarding wars, which was what she was writing her paper on. She suspected none of her peers would ever understand her fascination, however. Her parents had taken great care to surround her with pureblooded elitists from a very young age.</p><p>“Maybe you should just write about the goblin wars. Binns loves them and there’s a wealth of literature on them here.”</p><p>Theo groaned, throwing himself bodily over the desk.</p><p>“They’re so boring though! You don’t understand Daph. I’m like a tortured artist.”</p><p>He looked up at her woefully, and something in her heart lurched unbidden at the look on his face. Theodore Nott had always been familiar, but it was only in their misbegotten 7th year that he had become safe, comfortable even. In a moment, she was thrown back to that year, to the only parts of it that had been worth living.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Why are they doing this? I don’t understand.” Her voice was hoarse from tears, face shining with the evidence of them.</p><p>“I don’t know, Daph. I don’t know. My father is one of them and I still don’t bloody know and I hope I don’t ever know.”</p><p>He shook as he held her, face buried in her long brown hair. They were lying in his bed, sharing it as the cruciatus tremors wore off their bodies, huddled together for warmth, frozen from the shock. The Carrows were indiscriminate in their reign of terror, gleeful in their torture.</p><p>“Do you think…” she trailed off.</p><p>“What?” </p><p>The word was barely a whisper, as though he were afraid of the question she would ask. He was right to be.</p><p>“Do you think we’ll ever become like them, someday?” </p><p>“No.” His answer was immediate, decisive.</p><p>“How do you know?”</p><p>“I just know. We won’t ever be like that. There’s something wrong about them, something gone bad inside. We aren’t like that.”</p><p>“You can’t just say that. You can’t ‘just know’ something like that. There have to be…steps. Something we can do to stop this from happening to us. To make sure we never become like them.”</p><p>He didn’t say that he wasn’t sure if that would ever be a choice for them. He didn’t say that when he was old enough, when the Dark Lord decided he could be useful, he was doomed to become an updated version of his father. He didn’t say that, at best, Daphne was doomed to be trophy wife to the kind of man she feared now, laying in his bed, in his arms. Instead he offered up a morsel of hope, a death row inmate sharing his last meal.</p><p>“Well when you figure it out, would you tell me? We can do it together. We can learn how to be good together.”</p><p>“Together.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>That moment, that realization had changed everything for Daphne. She had taken proactive steps. Had done everything to rid herself of her prejudices, disappoint her parents, learn more of a world that had been locked away from her. She grew to loathe complacency.</p><p>She looked up at the boy across from her. Theo had always been better at rebellion than she had. Maybe it was why it had taken them so long to become true friends. She had always assumed that he would be just like his father, only to find that he hated the man when she looked closer. Theo was a crushing disappointment for Nott Sr., but an unprecedented delight for Daphne.</p><p>“Seriously, how am I supposed to work in these conditions? No intellectual stimulation.” Theo groaned.</p><p>Daphne leaned back in her chair, sighing.</p><p>“We have the same question, but different issues. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to work with a loud-mouthed Slytherin pretty boy bothering me.”</p><p>“Now you just sound like Pansy.”</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous. Pansy would never call you pretty.”</p><p>Theo barked a laugh. “That’s true.”</p><p>Daphne turned back to her parchment, but she found it more difficult to focus on now that she had let her mind wander. Truthfully, she hadn’t focused on it from the moment Theo sat down. If she wanted to admit it to herself, she might go so far as to say that she hadn’t come to the library to study at all, but rather to seek a timely, boy-shaped distraction.</p><p>“So, what do you think of Granger? I couldn’t see your face, and you weren’t sitting near me so I couldn’t exactly risk passing any notes.”</p><p>“That’s exactly why I didn’t sit near you. Do you think Hermione Granger, famous swot, wouldn’t detect any and all note passing in her class? No matter how subtle?”</p><p>Theo shrugged, but the grin on his face said he knew she would.</p><p>“Doesn’t answer the question Greengrass.”</p><p>Daphne twirled her quill in thought, trying to figure out what she wanted to say. It had been very interesting to take Granger’s class, but nerve-wracking all the same. She hadn’t been sure what kind of welcome she was going to get from the famous war heroine. Would she despise Daphne for her ties to the Dark Lord? She was more than entitled to do so. Interestingly though, she hadn’t been half as biased as Daphne had feared. In fact, the professor didn’t even seem to notice her, too caught up in monitoring Theo.</p><p>“She seemed awfully interested in you,” Daphne said, carefully tempering her voice into neutrality.</p><p>“Yeah, kept giving me the evil eye, didn’t she? Like she expected me to roll up my sleeve and start waving the mark around praising moldy Voldy, eh?”</p><p>“The evil eye? Interesting.” Daphne hummed.</p><p>“What? Did you not notice? Barely took her eyes off Blaise and I through the whole class.”</p><p>“Oh no. I noticed. I just wasn’t sure if it was because of your ties to the Da-“ She cleared her throat. “He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named or if it was maybe something else.”</p><p>“Like what?” Theo’s brow furrowed as he shot her a confused look.</p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>“You’re chewing on your quill, Daph. You only do that when you’re nervous or lying, so which is it? Both?”</p><p>“Neither and that’s ridiculous. I chew on my quill as an absent-minded habit, not a nervous habit.”</p><p>“Lying it is then. So what about?”</p><p>Daphne’s breath caught in her throat for a moment as he focused all the energy of his murky green eyes on her, the same shade as the moss floating along the bottom of the lake, fringing the common room windows. She opened her mouth to say something, she wasn’t sure what, when there was a racket directly behind her.</p><p>Theo was immediately on his feet, wand pulled out and on guard. Daphne stood up, whirling around as she reached for her own wand, ready to defend herself. The shelf of books that had been facing her back quivered slightly, a cloud of dust kicking up around it, a figure emerging from it.</p><p>“Oh dear,” came the dreamy sigh of Luna Lovegood. “I’m afraid I’ve made rather a mess. So sorry.”</p><p>Slowly, Daphne relaxed. She felt Theo do the same behind her, the imperceptible shape of his posture shifting in the corner of her eye. Reaching out with her wand, she reshelved the several books that Luna had managed to knock over.</p><p>“I was looking for Nargles,” Luna explained unsolicited. “You haven’t happened to see any, have you?”</p><p>“Afraid not,” Theo drawled, casual arrogance dripping off every word, the mask of an entitled Slytherin. “You could check with Zabini though. I hear they swarm around him in droves. If there was a Nargle hive, he would be it.”</p><p>Lovegood lit up. “Oh, but there is a Nargle hive! I wonder if Blaise knows where it is. I’ll have to go ask him right away. Thank you so much!”</p><p>She spun on her bright yellow heels, necklace of radishes whipping around behind her as she turned and exited the library. Daphne watched her go, no doubt in gleeful pursuit of Blaise and a herd of Nargles. She only breathed out when the dust had finally settled in the library, any promise of danger gone.</p><p>“That wasn’t very nice,” she told Theo.</p><p>“What? Are you implying Blaise wouldn’t absolutely adore Lovegood?”</p><p>“You know he won’t. Blaise doesn’t like people in general, least of all new ones.”</p><p>“Well, maybe he just needs to expand his horizons a little more. Loony Lovegood isn’t exactly people in general, now is she?” He asked, settling back into his chair.</p><p>“First of all, don’t call her that. Second of all, something tells me Blaise will not appreciate your efforts to socialize him.”</p><p>“Blaise always appreciates my efforts sooner or later.”</p><p>“That is patently false.” Daphne rolled her eyes, plunking back down in her own seat.</p><p>“Name one time Blaise hasn’t properly appreciated me.”</p><p>“Blaise always gives you the appreciation you deserve, as indicated by the time he spends ignoring you.”</p><p>“Ouch.” Theo winced.</p><p>“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.”</p><p>“No, that was a real one,” Theo said, wringing out his hand. “Paper cut.”</p><p>“You barely touched that book.” Daphne leaned forward across the table to inspect his wound.</p><p>“I know. Vicious little thing, isn’t it? Might as well be a guide to magical creatures.”</p><p>Theo glared at the offending text before snatching his hand away from her to lick the sliver in his skin.</p><p>Daphne looked back to her own sheets of paper, the books that she had left nearly untouched. As much as she had sought out this distraction, it had not been one she needed. She still had nearly her entire paper to write for Binns and it was due tomorrow, which meant she needed to get cracking.</p><p>“Listen Theo, as enlightening as this experience has been, some of us actually value our educations, which means that I cannot be here right now. I’ll see you later.”</p><p>Daphne stood, gathering her books in her arms, letting the weight of them bring her back to earth and ground her in her responsibilities. She shoved her chair back in with the help of a flick of her hips, tossing her hair back into place behind her shoulder when she was done.</p><p>“Wait!” Theo said, standing as well. “Are you coming to the party this week?”</p><p>Daphne considered it, considered him. It probably wasn’t a good idea for her to go to the party in the Slytherin common room Friday night. It was an even worse idea for Theodore Nott, whose father had been a known Death Eater and who had barely made it through his trials unscathed. He was deeply unpopular with the muggleborn Slytherins, for obvious reasons. There was something about the way he asked though…</p><p>She sighed. “If I say yes, will you promise not to do anything reckless?”</p><p>A wide smile stretched across his face, knowing he had her. “Define reckless.”</p><p>“I suppose that means I have to show, to stop you from doing the stupid thing you will inevitably do.”</p><p>“It’s a date then, Greengrass.”</p><p>Daphne resisted the urge to check her reflection in the window beside her to see if her cheeks were burning as bright as she felt they had to be. Rather than dignify his comment with a response, or, more likely, embarrass herself further, she turned her back on him. Her heels made quick clicking noises across the floor, echoing up towards the high ceilings of the castle as she exited the library.</p><p>On her way back to the dorms, she reflected on the strange thing that appeared to be happening between herself and Theodore Nott. It was obvious that he had no interest in her. Theo had been a notorious playboy their 6<sup>th</sup> year, likely because of his clever tongue and his easy smiles. The way he was around her was nothing unusual, if you didn’t count the rare moments of sobriety, the glimpses of the ‘real’ Theo. The way she felt for him was irrelevant, as it certainly wasn’t anything romantic.</p><p>Having feelings for Theodore Nott would be a fantastic mistake. Daphne Greengrass did not make fantastic mistakes.</p><p>The stone walls of Hogwarts whispered to her, echoes of students around the castle. It was rare to find a section of the castle that didn’t echo and ricochet throughout the whole building. Some sections of the castle even echoed very clearly to sections on the other side, like a muggle game of ‘telephone’, if Daphne understood the concept properly. First years delighted in sending each other messages, having whole conversations from across the length of the castle.</p><p>She let her shoulders slump slightly, noticing the uncharacteristic emptiness of the hallway she was walking down. Truthfully, she was exhausted. She had none of the mental willpower necessary to finish this paper. Her eyelids scratched across the film of her bleary eyes, and her steps dragged just slightly, belying the usual crisp sound of her steps.</p><p>She was just debating neglecting to turn this paper in at all and hoping Binns just wouldn’t notice when she saw it and stopped dead in her tracks.</p><p>She felt her breath catch in her throat, spiraling into a tight knot of sickness just under her ribs. One well-manicured hand reached up to curl around her mouth, nails digging lightly into the softness of her cheek. Again, the telltale chink of her heels as she took a stumbling step backwards, nearly tripping as she got caught between a crack in the castle’s floor and her trembling knees.</p><p>Strung up across the wall was the body of a student. Daphne didn’t recognize him. He was young, too young for her to have gone to school with him before, meaning he couldn’t be more than a 3<sup>rd</sup> year. There had been some kind of stasis charm cast on him to keep him plastered to the cold stones, but it did nothing to stop the blood dripping down his chest, a sickening plinking sound trickling down to the floor.</p><p>There was no writing in blood on the walls this time, not like second year. No “Beware the heir” in deep red. Instead, the words had been carved into the walls of the castle, etched into the stone in an effort to create something that would be far harder to erase than blood. The words were stark, harsh, and they struck fear into Daphne’s heart, into her spinning head.</p><p>THE BLOODTRAITORS ARE NEXT</p><p>She finally fell to her knees, skin digging into the cool grooves of the floor as she let out a heart-stopping, bloodcurdling scream.</p><p> </p>
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